


Bridgemoss Guardians

by princesstwilight211 (orphan_account)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Attempt at Humor, Best Friends, Cemetery, Coming of Age, Fic Graveyard, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Sneaking Out, Thriller, dream's parents - Freeform, idek anymore, midnight adventure, sapnap is mentioned because why not :), seriously theres no shipping, their ages are not consistent with real life, they hold hands i guess, they're both 13 y/o kids, vampire? i guess, witty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/princesstwilight211
Summary: Clay and his best friend George go on a midnight adventure but things take a spooky turn halfway through. What will happen?A coming of age story.No shippingJust 13-year-olds being 13-year-olds, exploring through graveyards and pretending to be ghosthunters, detectives, and crime fighters.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Bridgemoss Guardians

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there.  
> This is the first time I'm writing something like this. I wrote it all in one sitting so haha. Apologies in advance for any mistake.  
> Loosely based off on one of my and my best friend's own midnight adventures  
> I hope you like it<3
> 
> If Dream and/or George ever change their mind about fanfiction I will not hesitate to delete this :)  
> Enjoy!

He waited for 15 minutes after the sliver of light beneath his bedroom door disappeared. Once he was sure his parents were asleep, Clay slid the window up and stole down the trellis. The autumnal air swished down into his lungs — crisp, chilly, and delicious. He landed like a cat, crouched, hands on the floor. Clay didn’t need to jump the last of the way to the ground, but where would the fun be in not doing that? 

His ten-speed leaned next to the bins — where he’d left it. With a glance up at the droopy eyes of the house, he hopped on his bike and cycled off into the night. After half a minute, he clicked his torch on and plopped it into the basket. The beam sliced through the evening’s ink.

The streets were empty at this time of night, saved for the high school kids. They drove around, windows obscured with pot smoke, beers in one hand, steering wheels in the other. Clay didn’t bother to hide from these, but he did take caution to avoid collisions. If only his father — who grumbled about their poor driving skills — could see them now.

It didn’t take him long to reach George’s house. Google Maps told him it was an 11-minute journey, but he always raced to beat the time. He usually made it in seven minutes or less. Not that he had his phone with him now. His parents had installed a tracking app a few months back. Clay left the blasted thing plugged in on his nightstand. Should they check in the morning, it’d seem he’d slept the night through. It never occurred to them that their modern child would leave the house without it. As far as they were aware, they’d succeeded in their attempts to curb their son’s night time excursions.

He flashed his light at George’s window. On, off. On, off. On, off.

First, nothing. Then, the curtains stirred and the window clunked open. Clay caught wind of a sigh. The voice that whispered down to him was thick with drowsiness. “I thought you were joking about tonight, Clay.”

“I never joke about a hunt! Besides, your mom’s working the night shift tonight, is she not?”

George groaned. “Can’t we just sleep? I’m tired!”

Clay shone the light across George’s form. “Evil never sleeps, Georgie!” Clay grinned. George had not yet gotten into his blue pajamas. “Mr Moore has been found dead in his home!”

“Really? Oh, God. Fine Just get that light out of my face, will you? I’ll be down in a moment.”

Clay clicked the torch off and waited. After a spell, the front door of the Davidson’s house opened and closed. George wrapped his cardigan around him and shivered. “Mr Moore is dead?”

“And a good evening to you too, my fellow protector!”  
“Clay?”  
“Well, not dead…”  
George threw his head back and growled. “You always do this.”  
“But he did say that a bat tried to enter his home last night! A specter of the macabre, I’ve no doubt. We should ensure the foul beast does not find any more prey.”

George watched his breath float away. “Why’d we have to go out again this week, Clay? We went out on Sunday.”  
Clay sniffed the air. “Darkness lurks these streets, George. I can smell it.”  
“All I can smell is your bul—”

Clay silenced him with an upraised hand. “Quickly. My senses are tingling. We must head off the leech before he leaves his enclosure!”

George’s shoulders slumped. “Fine, but no more than an hour, yeah? It’s a school night.”

Clay nodded, hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. You got the stake?”

George rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom.” He patted his rucksack. “Don’t know why I’ve gotta be the one to store all this crap. If I get caught with it, people will think I’m a loony.”

“‘Cos your mom doesn’t search your room, Georgie. Now, hop on.”  
George did as Clay told him, but grumbled as he did so. “Maybe there’s a reason your parents search your room, Clay. You’re mental.”

“If being labeled mental is the price I have to pay to ensure the safety of the citizens of Bridgemoss,” Clay said as he began to pedal with a grunt, “then so be it!”

George took a deep breath. “You gotta grow up at some point, Clay. We’ll be in high school next year. We don’t wanna be labeled as the weird guys. Those boys never get dates.”  
“And still you doubt my gifts! You should have learned by now that this world is darker and more mysterious than the grownups would have you believe.”  
“So you keep saying.”  
“Do you not remember The Wolf of St Wisnis?”  
“…that was a stray dog.”  
“Ah, but did we not help the pound in catching a most evasive beast?”  
“Yeah, all right. I’ll agree we did some good there. We helped a homeless dog find shelter. I think Nick’s family adopted him.”  
“And of the ghosts of West Woodbridge?”  
“You mean the broken windchimes that Mrs Andrews had on her porch? That sounded like wailing?”  
“And did we not put an end to such ghastly choruses?”  
“We stole them, fixed them, then hung ‘em up again.”  
Clay sighed. “Ah, another citizen protected!”  
George chuckled. “Absolutely mental. So, where is it we’re heading tonight? I don’t wanna go trudging through dirty streams full of broken glass and needles again. My mum will kill me if I wreck another pair of trainers.”  
“Tonight, my fellow protector, we must head the destroyer off before he even leaves his lair!”  
“Oh, Jesus. I hate the cemetery.”

***

A thick mist clung to the ground. It seemed to seep from the very pores of the earth itself and offered the place a pale illumination. The tombstones pointed this way and that, drunkards who leaned against doorframes.

The only sounds were their own ragged breaths and their footsteps as they squelched in the mud.

“I don’t like this, Clay. It’s creepy.”  
“But have we not sworn an oath to brave the creeps of this world?”  
“An oath that you made up.”  
“An oath is an oath, my fellow guardian. Aren’t all oaths made up, at some point or another? At what point do they start to mean something?”  
George hesitated. “Fair enough. But I still don’t like this.”

Clay turned to face him, a toothy grin on his face. “So you admit that there is something out here tonight? You feel it too!” He clenched a fist. “I knew under my tutelage you’d soon hone your senses.”

George pulled his cardigan ever higher around his chest — any further, and he’d risk ripping the damn thing. “I-I don’t know. But I know that if we get stabbed and mugged, my mum will be more pissed than upset. At first, anyway.”

“We need not worry about being impaled by the drinker of life, it is he who should worry about us doing so to him!”

George frowned. “Sometimes, Clay, you get so wrapped up in your theatrics that you make no goddamn sense.”  
Clay shrugged. “We gon’ stab the vampire.”  
“Much better. But, still, can we go home? This is creepy. And I legit don’t wanna get hurt.”

Clay pointed forward with the stake. “Hush, now!” The moss-covered stones — features softened by the weather — gave way to the maze of the vaults. “We draw near to the crypts, my sweet, poor, innocent, George.”

Narrow structures with ancient doors, each one of a different design. Pointed rooves adorned with all manner of crucifixes. Steps led up or down to the entrances — all smothered in decayed leaves, wet with moisture. Thin, barely-passable alleys wove between the stone tombs. The way ahead was impossible to see.

“Oh, I hate this place,” said George. His voice rustled like the leaves beneath their feet. Low, quiet.  
“Fear not, young padawan, for I am here to guide you through tonight’s gauntlet.”  
George stopped a few steps short of the labyrinth. “Ten minutes. That’s all you get, Clay. Ten minutes, and then we’re back out and heading home. Deal?”  
“But we only just got here!”  
“Clay, this is insane. I wanna be back at home. In bed. With a hot chocolate. And a good book.”  
Clay lamented. “All right, George. But if the winged bringer of doom takes another life—”  
“Mr Moore is still alive and kicking.”  
“—takes a life, then that blood shall be on our hands!”  
George eyed the first row sepulchers and chewed his lip. “Ten minutes, Clay.”  
Clay thrust the stake forward. “To the lair of der Vampire!”

***

“Okay, Clay. You’ve had 13 minutes—”  
“An evil number, if I ever heard one. Let’s stay another minute.”

They were deep in the crypts, had walked nonstop — ears pricked, eyes peeled. They’d not found anything out of place, much to George’s prediction and Clay’s chagrin.

“Clay.” George’s voice hardened. It startled Clay. It was the type of tone his mother would use on him. They weren’t little kids anymore, and his heart ached to see his childhood now in the rear-view mirror.

“All right, all right, let’s go. Here.” He handed George the stake. “For safekeeping. Next time, you get to pick what we do.”  
George smiled. “Thanks, Clay.”  
“But no eighties horror movies!”  
“No, but we can play Minecraft and—” George’s eyes darted to the point over Clay’s shoulder. He frowned.

Clay snatched the stake from George’s hands and twisted around. “En garde!” But there was no denizen of the night there.  
Only the faded stone of an ancient crypt.  
With the door open ajar.

A foul breath gasped through the crack.  
“Aha! The beast has not hidden his abode well,” Clay said, voice a whisper. He gripped the stake tighter, knuckles white, teeth visible in his moonlit grin.

“Shh! Clay, this is serious!” George put a hand on his shoulder before he could take a step. “There could be graverobbers or anyone down there!”

“I take my hunting very seriously, thank you, dear guardian.” Clay pulled away and strode towards the black door. “And if they disturb the slumber of the beast, it could spell doom for us all!”

An archway curled around the edges of the door, with slots for lanterns above and either side. The lanterns were present, but their innards were devoid of flame. Clay paused at the foot of the steps, which ascended to the door. He read the name carved into the stone above the archway. “Loretta Zaleska,” he said in awe, “and here we were thinking that the vamp was a man.” Clay tutted and shook his head. He looked at George. “Not very progressive of us, was it?”

“We’re not actually going down there. Are we? ‘Cos that’s trespassing. We could get arrested.”  
“We’d be doing the local law enforcement fools a favor — ridding them of one more vermin!”  
“I don’t think that’s how they’d see it, Clay. And I don’t want to get a criminal record before I’m halfway through my teens. My mum will make me wish I got stabbed by junkies if that happens.”  
“Just a quick peek, Georgie.” Clay offered his the puppy-dog eyes. “Please.”  
“No. I’m not going down there.”

Clay smiled at him. A smile that George knew all too well. “I’ll be down just for a sec, George. You stay here.”  
“No, Clay, wait—”  
But Clay had already leaped up the steps and was at the door.  
George loosed a noise of exasperation and then followed his friend. “I swear, you’re going to get me killed.” The wet leaves squelched and squidged beneath his converse.

“You don’t have to join me, y’know.” Clay had one hand on the door, the other held the stake in a Ramboesque pose. “I can defend Bridgemoss by my lonesome.”  
“Because somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”  
Clay nodded. “Very wise. Who defends the defender?” He pushed the door open. It squalled on its hinges, loud and rusty.

George grunted. He was about to say that the only thing Clay’d defended anyone from was a night of peaceful sleep. But then a noise from the depths froze the words in his throat.

The scrape of stone.  
Followed by a thud.  
A sandpaper groan.

There was actually somebody down there.

***

“Clay,” George licked his lips, “Clay, we should leave.” George’s eyes were wide and wild. “I don’t like this, not one bit.”

Clay remained a statue, one hand on the door — which was now two-thirds of the way open. His heart bounced from side to side in his ribcage. He reaffirmed his grip on the stake. “I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I think there’s something in there. Like, something actually in there.”  
“Yeah? No shi—”  
Clay raised a finger to his friend’s lips. “Shh!”  
His eyes darted back and forth and he squinted. “I’m listening.”

“Clay, let’s call the cops and get outta here!” George shuffled and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He swore. “Dead. This thing never holds its charge, anymore! Lend me yours, Clay.”

A hiccough in the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of his heart. “I left it at home.”  
“You what?”  
“Mum ‘n Dad keep trying to track my movements. So, I left it.”  
“Oh Jesus, Clay. Let’s go. Let’s go now.”  
“Shush, I said! I can hear something…”  
George bit his tongue and held his breath. “I don’t—”

“There.”  
A thud. A thump. The unmistakable sound of footsteps on stone.

Clay turned to face George. His gut plummeted into the ground. “It’s coming this way.”  
The color drained from George’s face. A small squeak escaped his pressed-together lips.

Clay grabbed his friend by the shoulders. “We’ve got to hide, George.”  
George nodded and glanced around — a frightened rabbit in headlights. “Where, Clay? Where?”  
“Behind the crypt, c’mon!”

Clay had to all but drag George with him — further into the stone maze of the cemetery’s lifeless heart. They went past one, two, three rows of vaults and then hooked to the side. Clay hunkered down and pulled George down into a crouch, the eddies of fog now as high as their chests. To dip into that greyness was to plunge into ice. He pressed his finger to his lips and nodded. “Shh.”

He braced against the rear of a tomb for balance and listened.

Nothing.  
No thumps, thuds, slaps, taps, groans, or growls.  
All was silent.

Somewhere, an insect chirped. A bird cried out, and George let out a little squeal. Clay reached out and squeezed his hand.  
They waited. Clay counted to a minute twice, and still, there was nothing. “Hey, George, you still with me?”  
The other boy nodded.  
“I think tha—”

A hoarse moan rent the air, sliced his sentence in half.

George’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and he clamped his hands over his mouth. Gooseflesh prickled up all over Clay’s body.  
“You need to get outta here.”  
George nodded.  
“I’m gonna go see what it is.”

George gripped Clay’s forearm in a claw, his nails dug into the skin. “Are you crazy? This isn’t a game Clay — not anymore. Let’s just get the hell out of this place and pretend nothing ever happened, ‘kay?”  
“But there is something there.” Clay’s eyes darkened as he broke free of George’s grip and stood up. He clutched the stake to his chest. “And I’m gonna find out what it is.”  
“Are you insane? We need to go!”

Clay cast his eyes down to the ground. “I can’t,” he whispered. “We’ll be in high school next year, and these hunts…” Something swelled within his chest. “This year will be the last year we can do this. Properly. I don’t want to give it up, George. Not just yet.”  
“I’m not going to convince you to leave, am I?” The defeat in George’s voice was tangible, but intermingled with it was something else. Pity? Love?

He shook his head and said nothing. “But you can go. Really.” He nodded further into the crypts. “If you keep going, you’ll eventually come to the other side. The fence there isn’t too high, you should be able to climb it fairly easily. You can head home if you want. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

George glanced in the direction Clay had directed. He hesitated for a moment, seemed to mull it over. He shook his head. “No way in hell I’m leaving you here alone.” He got to his feet — with some difficulty, due to how much he shook. “We’re the Bridgemoss Guardians,” he pulled a crucifix from his bag, “and we do things together.” 

***

They waited for 15 minutes until the figures had shuffled on by, hearts lodged in throats. The boys never got a good look at them, but it didn’t matter — their imaginations filled in the blanks.

Once they were sure the horde had passed them, the pair made a break for the cemetery fence. Together, they scrambled up the wrought iron as laughter bubbled within them. George had not felt this giddy in years. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. God, he felt so alive.

As they stole down the other side of the fence, the midnight air rushed down his throat, sweet and cool. He and Clay landed in synchronism, on all fours, as was the most fun way to do it.

He cast one last glance at the cemetery before they sped off on Clay’s ten-speed. Shadows and mysteries lurked in every crevice, nook, and cranny. Excitement. Wonder.  
Magic.

Who’d want to give that up? In exchange for drab adulthood?  
“We coming back tomorrow?” George had to shout over the sound of the screaming wind.

“Oh, hell yeah!” He could hear the smile in Clay’s voice.  
“But we’re gonna need something more than stakes. I think those back there were zombies!”  
Clay laughed as he pedaled with fury and the wind whipped their hair. “You’re learning fast, my protégé. Bridgemoss Guardians away!”

**Author's Note:**

> So yah  
> Criticism and suggestions are always welcome!  
> tumblr [@dreamcraft404](https://dreamcraft404.tumblr.com)  
> twitter [@OkayJunee](https://twitter.com/OkayJunee)


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